


From the Ceiling

by Pitycup_hearts



Category: The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Horror, M/M, Modern AU, Paranormal, Thriller, can't tell if this will be xuexiao or xiaoxue, i don't know yet, just a drabble for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-09-24 19:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitycup_hearts/pseuds/Pitycup_hearts
Summary: After falling from a train, Xiao Xingchen finds himself as an injured patient within an empty house. With each open door, he knows the house is watching him. Struggling for his life, he finds a young man staring down at him from the ceiling. The young man's eyes are large, large enough to sob where no one can hear him. Injured, Xiao Xingchen wanders the house in search of the boy, with the taste of his tears in his mouth. He finds that the boy, Xue Yang, never resides in the light. There is something about the darkness that keeps him there. When a knock comes to the door, he discovers Song Lan, a man with a candle, a candle that will scare the Xue Yang away, the boy and his large eyes, starving for flesh, crying for attention.





	1. Chapter 1

A few instances brought him to his destination. His bus, pitiful vehicle, had eloped at last with the hands of time as he extended his arm and pleaded for it to return, making love to his responsibilities. He did not wish to be late. The pitiful vehicle had pulled forward, taking air into its wheels and prowled down the streets with a speed he could yet recognize in such a long mechanical beast. He decided instead to take to the railroad train, hot bodies waiting, eyes entranced by phone lights, a little child sliding their finger to cut fruit on a tablet. The humid August air kissed the nape of his neck, breathing into his skin, hot and slimy, perspiration. He unbuttoned the first button on his dress shirt, allowing more of the humid air to rush into his clothing. It clung to his back, wet lining the fabric, cotton on his pores. He unbuttoned another. Humid air was better than naught. He checked the time just as the train pulled up, screeching little metal wheels on the rails that said the following, “turn around.”

If Xiao Xingchen turned around now, he’d be late to meet the real estate agent. He desperately wished the humid air wouldn’t ruin his composure, but his collar was a crooked bone hooked around his neck like a noose, his shirt clinging to him like bodies. He entered the train and took a seat, watching as the ride progressed to scenery from the countryside. It wasn’t long before the following.

“Off this train now, young man,” came an elderly voice. “Off this train now.”

“I beg your pardon, Elder?”

“Off this train now, young man. Off this train now,” the woman repeated. Her wrinkles were very mature, crows feet stomping under and around her eyes like baggage compiled, her cheeks sagging until they almost drooped, her sloppy mouth too organic to remained fixtured on her face. She adorned a wicked hunch back, her face coming just shy of Xiao Xingchen’s belly button. In her hand, an ancient cane tapped the floor as though impatient, though somewhere in her sockets, her eyes were seeing and kind. Her voice was sour yet gentle, like lemon crumb cake, sweet filling. Xiao Xingchen could taste it in between his teeth, smaller pieces breaking free as it stumbled onto the buds of his tongue, then the euphoria of sweetness, sugar, flour, different components.

“Off this train now, young man.”

“Kind Elder, do you need me to assist you off the train?” He didn’t have the time, but the Elderly did very much burden him with talk. Could he leave such a poor sod with her hunch back and cane? His retail agent was young and nimble, he was sure, they were plenty capable of waiting a few stumbles.

“Off this train now, young man.”

“Yes, of course. But, Kind Elder, this nephew cannot go far. He can only walk you down the hill. Is that alright?”

“Off this train now,” she said kindly, eyes barely open, walking to the doors. The scenes flashes by quickly, trees and dirt and growing wheat, insects buzzing by ever quickly, some splattered across the windshield, he was sure.

“Kind Elder, we should alert the men. The train is still moving rather quickly. Won’t you take a seat? This nephew will ask them to stop the train,” Xiao Xingchen said, following her patiently down the hall. No one looked up to gaze in their directions, some staring out the window, most tapping away on their screens. As Xiao Xingchen walked past the child in the previous, he could still hear the slices across the screen and the screams as skin was cut into. It resembled more flesh than it did a peel of fruit, but he ignored it, walking faster. It seemed, the faster his traipse, the farther he seemed to be from the Elder.

“Kind Elder, won’t you slow down? Did you hear this nephew? Perhaps you can take a seat and he’ll alert the – “

“Off this train now, young man.”

“Yes, I understand but – “

The Elderly opened the door, a squall cried from the hinges as air dipped into, fierce slices of wing that cut into the skin stretched over your skull. Xiao Xingchen’s eyes widened, he reached out, but his limbs felt heavy, his legs slowing down.

“Off this train now,” the Elderly repeated. She didn’t turn to watch him, taking a step from the moving vehicle. He watched with horror as she fell into the dirt, the trail beneath as the train stumbled over a crooked bag, the snap of her cane audible in the distance. Everything happened so quickly and yet slowed, as if someone read him forward in the pages and he waited instruction. He could still hear the crack of bone, the screams behind him, his own voice haunting him as it gasped and shouted.

Xiao Xingchen felt himself hit the ground, roll free from the rail and onto grass as the train trailed beyond. When he purchased balance, he found a limp on his left leg as a bone protruded. His face was yet anguished by the pain, staring in shock behind him as he attempted to find the woman’s aftermath in the trails. He could feel the burn of his leg itch against the prick of grass, and already, an August fly committed its attachment to his scent.

He could not find the woman anywhere. She had disappeared.

Or was carried on in the wheels of the train.

He stifled a sob at what he had witnessed, not really sure when he had launched himself from the vehicle in order to catch her. What happened was both of their stumbles. One life lost, the other remained.

Slicing fruit. Slicing fruit. Like peeled skins.

He continued on, walking free from the scene. Nothing could make him stay there. When he groped his pocket, he found that his phone had been lost in the fall. The sky had already emitted the colorful hues of a sunset, birds flying farther off. With each squawk, he found himself watching his perimeters. The birds were so large, awkward feathers and hard beaks and cold eyes. He only knew because they had been staring in his direction.

His leg hurt, bitter pain and vomit in his throat. Swallowing, he pushed himself up the little hill before he saw a house farther off. The countryside never disappointed, seemingly housing a diminutive home somewhere in the cluster of trees. He limped until the sunset gave way to a dull piercing moon, half a crescent, thick on the shadow cast below it. As he neared the home, he could yet see a twitching light from within, the top floor window, a candle perhaps. Perspiration lined his temple, his hair sticking to his forehead, but the blood around his ankle had become a cluster of thick dried crimson. Now, soil cherished the body of red, particles of grass and minute pebbles that could barely be seen if not mistaken for sand. He found himself utterly dehydrated, his lips pale and dried to the point of peeling, peeling like fruit. He at last, reached the exterior of the door.

A house of bricks, a scatter of windows, scarce, a large door, bushes bushes bushes and trees trees trees surrounding it. They casted an eerie shadow that danced when entranced by the moonlight, swaying to and fro as if they laughed at his injuries. He unbuttoned another button about his shirt, surrendering himself to the cool against the door. The August humidity had been brutal to him, taking what energy he had left as a sob lie hibernated in his throat. He wanted to tell of what had happened, and yet no one had been present. Was the countryside so brittle, so scarce of population that he must suffer it? He fell down onto one knee, hopeless had not a being come to the door.

It creaked open. It was a startled creak, as if the house too, was afraid of a newcomer, someone in white, licked by blood, troubled by exhaustion. The man, him, wore expressions. Faces. Too many faces. It needed at least one face.

“H-hello?” Xiao Xingchen called out, his voice hoarse and weak from the travel and the loss of blood. “I’m terribly hurt and have lost my phone in a tumble. I don’t wish to trouble you, but if you could satisfy one night, I’d be greatly obliged.”

No one answered, but the door did not close. Xiao Xingchen waited, his heart beat a steady metronome in his ribcage. He mentally counted his bones and felt a sensation against his ribs as if someone too had taken to feel them, count them, see what he had left to spare. All except one.

He flinched, seeing no one. Cold air had nestled around his sore body, engulfing him in a frosty bath before he laid his head down against the pavement and surrendered to sleep.

When he had woken, his body had slumbered in a numb state, arms resting behind him, feet straight. He couldn’t feel himself move, but his eyes were alert and seeing. All around him, the room was unforgivingly cold, sending goose flesh up his arms and legs. He was bare of clothing, exposed under the drape of a thin bedsheet, like the house itself could not offer him the security of a thick blanket. It needed to see him at all times, even through the thin transparency of a bedsheet, it needed to see.

He could feel it watching him. He stared back in return, but at what? At the ceiling blocks above? The whiteness of the room that caved in on him? The empty corridors where darkness peaked in from a wide open door? The drip drip drop of the faucet in the washroom, where it too, held an open door? The house was watching, he was sure of it. He didn’t know where he too could meet its eyes, pleading almost. His speech came in many patterns, many voices, pleading, angry, frustrated, scared, gentle, but it came in the following: “won’t you show yourself?”

Someone had taken him in. He could not yet move to show his hospitality, numb to the touch, cold to the touch, frozen to the touch, terrified.

He had left his eyes open so long that they seemed to dry, but he knew he had met someone’s gaze. A lazy creak was heard, the type you’d hear from archaic doors, pushed from their worn hinges, allowing light to dump into the room.

There was no light.

Just the darkness and the sound.

Then.

Something dripped on his forehead. He couldn’t move his hands to touch it, praying that the substance was not red. It dripped again. Then again. Then again.

Again.

It fell on his eyes and nose and mouth ceaselessly, relentlessly, hungry, starved, just constant. It became further profuse, further vexed, angrier, until he closed his eyes and began to suffocate under it. It was raining, pouring onto his face, and he could not move from his position. It rained no where else. Just careful enough to drown him. He began to choke on it, trying to hold his breath as it escaped into his nose and ears. He began to choke, his lungs aching under the trauma, his hands twitching beside him.

“T-thank,” Xiao Xingchen began to choke, the salty liquid slipping into his mouth until it filled it. “T-thank you for having me,” he managed to say.

The liquid immediately stopped. What was left were the messy bedsheets, the hair sprawled out on the bed, his eyes closed and lips shivering from the cold. He felt his limbs begin to move again as he pulled the bedsheets closer, sitting up as pain shot through his left leg. His body was covered in a glaze of rising fresh, goose pimples on every part of his skin as his nipple hardened from the frost. His skin felt elastic tight, protecting itself from the sheer artic air.

The house was silent again.

His heart was no longer steady. A hungry throbbing organ in his chest, it thrusted its trauma against the skin inside of him. He swallowed, attempting to ease his thoughts. Quiet them. Eat them.

Someone was watching him.

Slowly. Slower than that, he raised his chin as though someone had reached out to kiss him, and met the gaze of the ceiling. From one of the boards, a pair of eyes watched him. Jade green eyes, a childish face, and long hair that fell from within the boards.

It was beautiful.

It was hungry. 

The rain had tasted like tears.


	2. Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The railing head resembled much a skinny man that took to staring at him, wilting on the ground in his white sheets and pale skin and red red red ankle. It was an anklet. A piece of jewelry that he worn on his bare body. It was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot about this! \\(*ﾟﾛﾟ)/  
Needed to work this out right before work so please don't kill me for grammar mistakes as I did not have time to proofread.  
Also, the doors are the house's eyes if anyone is wondering because that's what XXC is wondering too, lmao.

The child’s expression distorted, eyes like slits eyelids pulled down to create a glare, and yet the dazzle of his jade eyes were the factor of Xiao Xingchen’s rising flesh. With quick hands, the boy threw himself behind the boards again, the square tile of the ceiling brought back as the sound of his foot steps, or the crawling of his knees were heard traveling from the above, and then peer nakedness, so quiet, as if now he simply stood still.

“Oh, wait!” Xiao Xingchen found himself calling out. The ceiling above him creaked as if angered. In return, he sealed his lips and laxed his shoulders which had drawn up involuntarily. Xiao Xingchen was bare and shivering, and suddenly made to feel conscience about it. He pulled the sheets closer to his body, overlapping the ends so that it hung around his waist, some sort of security.

“Where are your parents?” Xiao Xingchen asked, finding himself a bit more presentable. The doors groaned as if agitated, and again, the man sealed his lips. The bushes outside called out in ruffles, leaves brushing against one another until the trees were frustrated by their movements, scratching at the windows. It didn’t seem strange at the first, until Xiao Xingchen noticed how close the trees were extending their branches. It didn’t scratch the window glass in the slightest, just hovering, shaking like shoulders when vexed, like tears from the eyes. Or laughter. Was the house angry at him or laughing at him?

The house looked to have shifted, or the lighting was hitting it differently. Xiao Xingchen could almost feel himself at a slant, or was it the manner by which he found himself standing? He found himself grimacing all of the sudden, falling down onto the ground, the pain of his leg engulfing the reflexes of his balance. He fell with a light thump, further expanding the pain of his protruded bone which by the looks of it, was not any longer protruded, neatly agitated back under the folds of his skin, bandaged with care. And still, the eerie pour of the red casted a tint on the outer bandage. It exhibited just how the human bled, a delicious red like juice from a crushed cherry fruit. He thought about tasting it in between his lips, torn apart by his teeth, when he realized he was simply hungry.

He reached forward, pulling his body along the floor on his stomach like a pathetic thing, fingers digging into the floorboards with such a pinch that his fingertips frosted white. The cool of the ground sent a shiver throughout his body and he exhaled, sharp breaths until he numbed to it. The door seemed to open farther, the opening still visible as it was before, and yet the door itself backed into the hallway wall. It took Xiao Xingchen an aggravated moment before he realized, they were almost watching him, the darkness. He felt it before, and felt it again.

“Hello there,” he called out, still about his stomach, his legs long behind him, his arms still outstretched. If the darkness wished to take hold of his hands and drag him away, it would not have been complicated a maneuver. And still, the darkness seemed to call to him. He dragged his body, his skin squeaking as it was stretched against the pull of the floorboard. It was a glossy sound, and he was sure he left a long warm streak on the ground where his body had touched the frost of the ground. He peered behind him, and barely visible, it was there. Not created by the warmth of his body for he was frigid from the chill, but a path he had parted of dust. The floor was covered in dust as if not a soul had resided there to scare it away.

“I suppose you don’t have allergies,” Xiao Xingchen said into the darkness. Not that the child would need worry at it for the boy was in the ceiling, crawling around much in the manner that Xiao Xingchen dragged his body around below. But, where by the sky, were the boy’s parents? Had he lived alone in such a place?

The doors groaned again. This wasn’t an agitated groan, just a grieving sound that called him forward. The darkness before him had waited, watching him. He hesitated at this, his heart a steady metronome in his ribcage that informed him of pragmatic reasoning. Yet, what reason did he have left? He was surrendered to this house, a guest and a patient, and very much an intruder all at once. He inhaled, held his breath and dragged himself into the darkness of the hallway.

It enveloped him all at once, the darkness. It was almost pitch black, the pictures hung up not discernable, just a smudge of details like a hand over a painting. The railing head resembled much a skinny man that took to staring at him, wilting on the ground in his white sheets and pale skin and red red red ankle. It was an anklet. A piece of jewelry that he worn on his bare body. It was beautiful.

These were not his thoughts, and yet he could feel them ooze from the walls of the house. His heart surrendered its steady tune and throbbed wildly inside of him. He quickly attempted to slide himself back into the room where even a bit of light would enter, and yet the door slammed shut behind him. It had shut so quickly, he thought the house to have panicked.

Everything was quiet again.

But he could hear himself breathing. Perhaps the house could hear him breathing too. Where was the boy? Did the house trap the boy here too? Or did the boy learn how to fend for himself inside of the beast?

Xiao Xingchen was no shield for him, but he still attempted to stand, reaching for the rest of the railing attached to the skinny man and pulling himself up with a mortified whimper as pain enclosed his entire leg and traveled up his torso until it reverberated in his scalp. He began to walk forward, using the railing as assistance. His feel were slow, one barely touching the floor as he used the railing to push it forward, lifting himself with his arms to avoid pressure. It was a silent traipse covered with his aching breathing, little outbursts of breaths when pain threatened him but didn’t entirely breach him. He continued to walk until he noticed how long the walk was becoming. When he turned his head, he could see the skinny man watching from behind him.

The skinny man was the end of the railing.

His hands began to shake as he touched what now supported him. It was icy cold but warm all at once, and was rigid still as if it didn’t wish to be detected. Xiao Xingchen turned slowly to face it, just inches from his very own terrified expression.

He made out a set of thick lips, a gentle nose, and sharp sharp sharp eyes that, even in the darkness, could be discerned jade.

The boy from the ceiling was a man. A man inches from his face, supporting him in the dark, like a skinny man that poised himself in the middle of the hallway waiting for someone to trip down his steps and roll until their skull spilt and they too would adorn a pretty band, like Xiao Xingchen’s anklet.

Xiao Xingchen let out a yelp, releasing his hold on the arm, disturbing his balance so that he fell into the ground again. He cried out again as his ankle hit the floor, agonizing the wound. Backing away with clumsy movements, his back hit the wall, and still the other young man had not moved closer, standing ever still. And Xiao Xingchen could only tell by the light of his eyes. The suddenly, the boy darted into a dark corner, far away from him, and was lost in the darkness.

“Oh, wait!” Xiao Xingchen called out again, unsure why he was summoning the person back. Maybe because when the two frost of bodies met one another, there was still a bit of warmth. Two negatives that made a positive. He could feel the warmth inside of the young man’s body, and his hunger for warmth had called out to it.

The boy had run away. It looked like fear. It felt like fear. And Xiao Xingchen only knew because that’s exactly how he felt now. He was covered in it, more of fear than he was of frost, of pain. But the boy seemed to be covered in the glaze of his jade eyes, eyes that could cover everything but the obvious pain that had afflicted him when Xiao Xingchen let go.

“Come back,” Xiao Xingchen called out. “H-help me stand up.” He couldn’t help the obvious tremble in his voice, but he could imagine the same tremble in the young man’s throat.

“What is your name? My name is Xiao Xingchen. I’ve taken up your space. I didn’t mean to scare you off. Come, please.”

Nothing came out of the darkness.

Xiao Xingchen, determined, edged himself closer until he was in the same corner. When he reached out, there was nothing there. His eyebrows furrowed with distaste and worry all at once. Was he seeing things? Twice now?

Was it a spirit?

Those eyes seemed so _alive_.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Xiao Xingchen tried again. “Don’t be afraid. I will not hurt you.”

The door down the hall opened again to allow some light into the hallway. Xiao Xingchen did not see the boy, so he backed away from it. He backed into the opposite corner where the darkness enveloped him and breathed in his ear.

It had said, “Xue Yang.”


	3. The Stranger and the Traveler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The railing began to feel like ice in his palms. The house was angry with him. He looked around for the boy. Perhaps he was behind him and would send him down the staircase for good. Cut off his arms so he couldn’t catch the railing, cut off his legs so he couldn’t regain balance, stab him in the eyes so he couldn’t see where he was going.

Xiao Xingchen stumbled, but the wall embraced him like arms around his waist, steadying him. He was sure he could sense its breath on his neck. He didn’t quite wriggle it free from his bones for the warmth did very much sooth the shiver from his skin. He stood that way, basking in the darkness until his heart became a steady creature again in his chest. The house too seemed to sigh with relief, a quiet forest. The moonlight could not penetrate though it streamed through the open door and pooled down the hallways. Xiao Xingchen could sense it again, that revolting animosity that came when it came so close, clouds shifting above like a canopy perhaps. The moonlight would approach then retract like the darkness had hissed, unfurling itself to startle the light away. Or was it the other way around?

Xiao Xinchen could feel it. He despised the light all of the sudden, how it burned and tore him away bit by bit, peeling his skin until he was dry bone. He felt his ankle ache from it, and leaned closer to the wall. He could feel the wall exhale like a sharp breath, but it enveloped over him, again like arms tangling between his, running up his ribcage, kissing his ankle.

It felt human.

He turned around to face it, but only met the boards of the wall. Not a bit of paint had peeled, no spiderwebs, just the dust he inhaled through his nose. He could taste it, the dust.

“Are you in there?” He asked the wall, for he could feel the beating heart, the throb of an organ, the wavering heat. The house was cold and warm all at once.

Then there was a knock.

The door down the hallway immediately slammed shut, surrendering Xiao Xingchen to the naked darkness again. The walls abandoned their warmth, soaking in a frigid shiver that ran up his spine. He detangled from it at once, confused, eyes attempting to penetrate the dark to find the young man. He saw nothing, but he could discern the skinny man ahead. The skinny man was looking at the door – Ah, yes, there was a visitor.

That didn’t make sense either. Xiao Xingchen had no clothing to obscure his values, but he tightened the bedsheets around his shoulders and body as he descended the stairs carefully. There was an agonizing creak with each tread, something that seemed so unlike a house that brandished itself in the silky layer of paint, his free corners, its dazzle display. It appeared to be lived in. The steps however, did not appear to have been treaded on in decades. All of the sudden, the house seemed abandoned and worn down, like Xiao Xingchen’s ankle if someone sawed it off.

Those weren’t his thoughts. They were the house’s.

He gasped as it reached him, nearly tripping down the entire staircase, but his arms were nimble, clutching onto the railing for dear life. His feet slid entirely off the treads, and he now laid off the angles of them, but his arms hung on as he pulled himself quickly to his feet once more.

“Coming!” He called out.

The railing began to feel like ice in his palms. The house was angry with him. He looked around for the boy. Perhaps he was behind him and would send him down the staircase for good. Cut off his arms so he couldn’t catch the railing, cut off his legs so he couldn’t regain balance, stab him in the eyes so he couldn’t see where he was going.

Again, they were not his thoughts. He cleared his mind rationally, heading towards the last tread with careful steps, grimacing as he went. When he approached the door, keys had been inserted and a man stepped inside. Xiao Xingchen, for what ever reason, sat down on the last tread as if to assume some sort of authority of the house. It seemed as though and intruder had invaded all of the sudden, and the cold would not shake them off. The first thing the man did was light a candle, and its light flickered up the treads and spilled into the living room like a ghastly dance.

Xiao Xingchen’s heart began to throb inside, faster and faster, like the feet he heard run up the steps. He turned around quickly to notice the long hair swaying side to side in the run.

The boy.

He stood up, but hung onto the railing as if to calm the house. The railing were shaking. The house was afraid.

“Oh!” The visitor called out, obviously startled. “You startled me.”

“Apologies,” Xiao Xingchen replied, not oblivious to how he must’ve appeared to the man. He was pale enough to be a ghost, now covered in transparent sheets of white. He was bare and bone.

“No need to apologize. Tell me, traveler, how did you come upon my abode? I was just resting for the night, but it seems as though you’ve already beat me to it.” There was a slight laugh in the man’s voice though Xiao Xingchen couldn’t discern if it was friendly or sinister. He did not take a step backward. For now, this home would be his home.

“Your abode?” Xiao Xingchen questioned. The statement did seem quite bizarre. The house just didn’t _seem _like it belonged to the man, like it rejected him, like it was cold because of him. Xiao Xingchen almost wanted to sniff the man, invade his clothing in search of that evidence, see how cold the man actually was. He must’ve been frost.

The railing was still shaking. Xiao Xingchen rubbed it with his palm to sooth it, easing himself as he felt the tension release from under his touch. The vibration halted, but the warmth did not return. It should’ve returned, for the light of the candle seemed like a calming thing, but the dance was too wicked, wicked like someone was blowing on it and it wouldn’t go out.

“Yes, unless of course, it is now your abode, stranger,” the man said. He didn’t seem to take Xiao Xingchen for a threat, and Xiao Xingchen couldn’t imagined that he appeared to be one no matter how he attempted to look it.

“Apologies to have woken you from your slumber. If you will have me, I’d like to house a room as well,” the man said, humoring him. His voice was very tranquilized, comforting on the ears. Even his jokes seemed reassuring, the way you would speak to a child.

Like you were luring someone in.

Xiao Xingchen pulled the sheets closer to his body and squared his shoulders. He wasn’t a harsh man in the slightest, but he certainly knew how to protect what was his. The house was currently his as much as the candle had been the man’s.

“You may slumber the night, of course. The main room is currently unoccupied. I’m afraid I’ve taken my share of sleep for the night, so it is yours. The sheets though, I must take with me. Sanitation and all,” he told the man.

“Sheets? Have you brought sheets with you as well, Traveler? There are no sheets in this house. I visit but once in a full moon. The house is quite abandoned. Why, it could fall down at any moment as if a fire took to it.”

The railing shook. Xiao Xingchen squeezed his palm around it once more, his eyes narrowing as if he had just been challenged.

“The house is actually quite pristine, Stranger, besides the particles of dust, but even a child wouldn’t worry at the dust so it is ever a loving home,” Xiao Xingchen assured him. The stranger appeared to be shocked for a moment, his candlelight showering the home with the vision of what it truly was. The house was obviously abandoned and falling apart. The curtains were ragged and falling down, the couch covered by a sheet, the chandelier had fallen from the ceiling and rested unearthly on the floor. Pictures on the wall were now crooked possibly by a quake in the house, disturbed by some means, close to descending in the fashion the chandelier had.

“Why, I take your compliment then. Song Lan,” the man said, extending his hand but not taking a step forward.

“Xiao Xingchen,” he replied, extending his free arm. He would not move either. Song Lan would take the first steps, but this home was his. He would cater no one. There was a brisk silence before a twitch seemed to escape Song Lan’s brow. Had this invader, this Xiao Xingchen fellow, had he such audacity as not to meet him in greeting? Why was this traveler in his home?

Song Lan had abandoned the house a decade and a half ago, returning once in a while to readmit his presence, scare off the nuisance of the walls and what attempted to forsaken it. It was still his home. He could startle the darkness with the light.

His candle flickered as if to dominate, but when he looked up, Xiao Xingchen was but a breath away, and blew out the candle like the light had been a nuisance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe short chapter, sorry!  
What do you guys think of Song Lan here? Mixed opinions? I'd love to hear them!


	4. The Lighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You come down from there, traveler. I allowed you into my home, and we will be amiable. We will be friends,” Song Lan called out. Though Xiao Xingchen was not very far off, in the darkness, he could barely be discerned even in his white cloak. The darkness made him to appear farther, like in the depths of it, ensnarled by it. Like Xiao Xingchen was safe. Song Lan would surely pull him back to vulnerability.

To Song Lan, the house seemed to shutter or quake, he felt it as laughter and a crease formed on his brow as he took in his bearings. Quickly, he pulled back as if the strange traveler was going to contact him, but instead, he found his own arm lashing out. He needed to light the candle again, quick quick quick. He could already hear the feet, the little feet, the body running across the floor boards, coming closer and closer and closer. His blood began to boil as he launched himself at the traveler by the name of Xiao Xingchen. The traveler seemed to be gripped from behind and pulled up the stairs, his entire body lifting off the ground and hurling into the naked air before he landed with grace on the treads. The moonlight did not reach the treads, that’s what it was.

Song Lan quickly maneuvered himself and positioned his body by the window where the raw moonlight touched his back. He pulled open the curtains that had been drawn shut and permitted the moon’s touch to graze over everything. And _still _it did not touch the treads.

Damn it to hell. His fists balled up beside him, his shaky hands returning to his pocket as he took out a lighter. With a little flicker, the flame breathed to life. He saw the fiery rays of it and chuckled aloud, chuckled in the traveler’s direction.

“You come down from there, traveler. I allowed you into my home, and we will be amiable. We will be friends,” Song Lan called out. Though Xiao Xingchen was not very far off, in the darkness, he could barely be discerned even in his white cloak. The darkness made him to appear farther, like in the depths of it, ensnarled by it. Like Xiao Xingchen was safe. Song Lan would surely pull him back to vulnerability.

Did Xiao Xingchen know? Did he know? _Did he know_?

No. The boy never spoke to anyone. He would never explain himself to a mere stranger, a dainty traveler, pale as he, a ghost. Song Lan was of flesh and bone, and he would allow no phantom in his sight. Xiao Xingchen was either going to descend those treads and return to him, or he was going to force him down and into his arms where he would hold him in the light and the house would quake and the house would shiver and the house was raw and it was afraid afraid afraid of him, of Song Lan, of the actual owner.

Did Xiao Xingchen _know_?

The boy made it to appear as if Xiao Xingchen knew, or why else would he suddenly be so obsessive? Did the boy speak to him? Did he say anything at all?

Bother it! Song Lan would put an end to it, and all he needed was the light in his hands. Xiao Xingchen had to have known, had to, for he had blown out his candle. In that moment, Song Lan could’ve curled his hands around the man’s neck and twisted, or gripped it harder and harder and harder until the lungs gave in and surrendered and the pale face of the pale man was pale blue.

“Why, of course,” came Xiao Xingchen’s voice. His voice was easy on the ears and overly pleasant, melodious even and quite small. There was not a shiver of suspicion, of fear, of anxiety, or any perplexities in his tone, just the simple reply of nonchalance and courtesy.

“But come now, friend, won’t you put your match away? It is a rather old house and we wouldn’t want anything to catch fire, now would we?” Xiao Xingchen asked, a small smile still on his face though he was sure it wasn’t visible. Inside his chest, his heart was a throbbing nuisance. He was almost sure that Song Lan could discern he separate frantic beats within that very ribcage. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he felt the tension of the railing again, and a firm grip on the back of the bedsheets covering his body. If he turned now, would the boy be standing there?

Or the skinny man?

Goose flesh tore up his arms and legs, but he steadied himself and refused to back down. There was something strange about the man knocking on his own door though he had the key, like he wanted to awaken what was inside. It was also strange to light a candle in what was presumable such an ancient home, though to Xiao Xingchen the house had been a purely pristine masterpiece before the visitor’s arrival. He didn’t like the candle. It flickered and danced a devil’s dance on the wall, and when it twirled, the railing would quake. He would not have his house disturbed.

_Outsider, _Xiao Xingchen found himself thinking. His eyes narrowed though he hadn’t intended for them to. He repeated it in his head again like it would scare Song Lan off, scare off the visitor with a key, the visitor that claimed ownership, the visitor that wanted to be friends. Xiao Xingchen did not want to be friends. He wanted the key, and he wanted to lock the visitor out, wanted to turn around, wanted to see the young man, wanted to say _something_.

And by the heavens, he wanted a response. Who was going to take the first steps? He was not going to descend the stairs and no measly manmade lightbox was going to unnerve him. He was already deeply unnerved.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot, but you see, _traveler_, I cannot see, and my eyesight is very poor. You have accidentally blown out my candle. I will simply retrieve that and light it again. I need the light to see,” the visitor responded.

Xiao Xingchen eyed the candle and wanted to crush the wax on the plate and pull out the wick, maybe swallow it so that the only source of light was now in his stomach and all he’d see was black.

“The moonlight is very bright tonight, friend. Won’t you blow out your match before it burns your fingers? The fire makes me very uneasy,” Xiao Xingchen reasoned. The fire had simply been unpleasant, and if he were honest, a bit of a vexation. He just wanted to toss it free from the house and into the trees where it could be basked in darkness.

Darkness.

It seemed like such a topic then, and he couldn’t discern if they were his thoughts or the thoughts of the house. Still, he felt the pressure of a grip on the cloak of his back, and he stood his ground.

“You’re absolutely correct, traveler. Well, then, why don’t you come down and enjoy it with me?” Song Lan asked.

“I’m afraid the night is growing to be ancient, and you should value your rest, friend. I ask that you blow out your candle and ascend the stairs to the main room where you can adopt some sleep. I’m already worried for your health. The trip must’ve been rather long. Won’t you get some sleep?” What Xiao Xingchen wanted to say was, “won’t you eat the lighter? Won’t you swallow it whole? Won’t you see black black black?”

Song Lan seemed to think about this for a moment. His finger slipped for the heat of the fire had finally reached his thumb. He blew on it and quickly lit the fire once more.

“Won’t you show me the way, kind friend?” Song Lan asked. There was tension on his shoulders, and vigor in his eyes, but in the lighting of the house, it failed to be discerned.

“You are always welcome in my home, Visitor. Of course, please just follow me.” Xiao Xingchen turned. He did not know what to expect, did not know what it was he would see.

He didn’t see Xue Yang.

He saw nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for such a short chapter. I wrote it in legit 20 minutes and I have work now omfg (」°ロ°)」  
Can you guys understand what the light does? Why Song Lan keeps trying to let light in?   
I promise a longer chapter next time!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xiao Xingchen had no railing to feel for. He could not discern what the house was feeling, so he peaked into the hallway to find the skinny man standing where he had left him. He hadn’t moved, like he was confident. Perhaps the house was okay then.

It was needless to say that his foundation crumbled. In actuality, Xiao Xingchen tightened his lips and turned to Song Lan and showed his teeth in what was an overly polite smile. In the darkness, he looked ghastly, but he appeared beautiful. He appeared as an angel would, without his halo, for it seemed he had thrown the device around Song Lan’s neck and for what ever reason, desired nothing more than to strangle the man.

_Stop breathing stop breathing stop breathing! Die! _Came Xiao Xingchen’s thoughts. This he knew, was inaccurate. There was no reason for him to want Song Lan’s indulgence in death, no reason for him to want the man to suffocate. Unless.

He touched his house.

He required that Song Lan remember that he was a guest, and any inappropriate behavior in someone else’s home would be reciprocated. Only, Xiao Xingchen wasn’t quite sure that he had it in him to do anything at all. Just where was all of this rage coming from?

He turned and found that Song Lan had made his way up the treads, waiting patiently behind him, staring up at his smile. The man had a smile of his own, it seemed, and Xiao Xingchen was having none of it. He felt the railing and found it still, not a speck of warmth, not a single vibration. It’s like the feeling in it had left entirely, like it had run away, like someone ran away.

Xiao Xingchen wanted to frown, but he found his composure. He rubbed the railing again but felt nothing, as nothing as he had saw. For some reason, it just seemed significant a thing to locate the child and assure that they were safe. His lips opened, ready to pronounce the “Xue” when he abruptly turned toward Song Lan again, hiding something like a secret. Song Lan looked like a man who liked secrets, and Xiao Xingchen liked his secrets to be private. He put two fingers on his lips, hushing the visitor just in case the young man was woken up. The house was so sound, so quiet, that it seemed to be sleeping. Perhaps the boy was sleeping, or like a child under the bed, hiding.

“Are you afraid of noise?” Song Lan suddenly asked. The question seemed pervasive, and Xiao Xingchen quickly shut it out and shoved it from his system. He would not be unnerved, and he would not allow him to know that the child was something like his own.

“What a strange question,” he responded instead. “If you are noisy now, it may frighten your sleep away, and we want nothing more than for you to sleep.” He smiled kindly, meaning every last one of his words. He wished Song Lan would fall asleep right then and there, he’d even carry him up the steps, put him in the bed gently.

Then throw a pillow over his face and suffocate him.

_Where are these thoughts coming from? I need to calm down, _he told himself. And yet, he knew the thoughts weren’t his. They were most certainly the house’s, again. He hurried himself up the stairs to avoid Song Lan’s suspicion. When he entered the main room, it appeared to be a devastated thing. The drapes were wrecked, the wall paint peeling, the ceiling lights hanging lower than their touch against the sky boards. This is not how the room had previously appeared. Xiao Xingchen had to place his hands over his face to avoid distorting his features with a disastrous expression. Song Lan however, appeared to be very uncomfortable in his own skin. Perhaps Xiao Xingchen could peel it off so he could feel better.

“What ever is wrong, Visitor? You don’t look well,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Perhaps it was the long travel here. Did I not say that you very much needed rest? Just look here, you seem so pale.”

“I thank you for your worry, Traveler, but perhaps it is the air in the room. How about I take a guest room while you lounge here?” Song Lan suggested. His words did not state everything his expression did. Without his saying, Xiao Xingchen knew it was a different reason that provoked the man from the main room. It wasn’t courtesy.

“And why would I allow my guest to take to a guest room while the main room remains unoccupied? My dear friend, won’t you see that I will not slumber the night? It would be such a waste to allow the room to remain haunted.”

It was his words that instigated Song Lan’s wide eyes. The man quickly narrowed them almost as a glare before he took a step away from Xiao Xingchen. He moved himself by the window and pulled at the blinds, as tattered as they were, allowing the light to pierce the room with its full glory.

Xiao Xingchen had no railing to feel for. He could not discern what the house was feeling, so he peaked into the hallway to find the skinny man standing where he had left him. He hadn’t moved, like he was confident. Perhaps the house was okay then.

“Let us be frank, Traveler,” came Song Lan’s voice, cutting into the emptiness of the room. It was a filling voice all of the sudden, as filling as it was hollow. It bled into Xiao Xingchen’s ears like cotton, and he choked on it. His stomach had sank, his legs abandoning the sturdiness of their hold. They wobbled quite a bit until he straightened himself up, pressing a hand against the wall for balance.

Then he felt the warmth. It, again, was a light throbbing inside of the walls, the metronome consistency you would find from a heartbeat. He closed his fingers around it to preserve its heat in his palms, closing his fingers around as a ribcage would protect the heart.

“I prefer that we be frank. Please do not think that I am alarmed,” Xiao Xingchen said after closing his eyes with a pause. When he had opened them, his expression was again gentle as it was fierce. The bedsheets were falling from around his shoulders, exposing the naked skin underneath, pale like something you could bite into, like a lemon tart, sweet and sour all at once. Song Lan chuckled at his words, but he didn’t step away from the light, like the light would protect him from any form of darkness that the paler man thought of spewing. In reality, Xiao Xingchen was going to say nothing. Perhaps even nothing could relinquish the darkness in him, though he felt his soul, purely of light.

“You are fearless. I admire that much,” Song Lan told him.

“Please do not flatter me. I don’t bear many qualities worth flattery, and have I donned that suit, I would flatter myself, Visitor.”

“Won’t you drop this visitor act of yours? This is my house, Traveler.”

The words came as a shock to Xiao Xingchen. From what he could tell, the house very much preferred his presence to Song Lan. Just look at what type of appearance it took on since this man’s entrance. Xiao Xingchen couldn’t help but purse his lips at such a thought. Imagine, someone trying to steal the very house that was yours and claim it as their own.

“Won’t you drop _your _act, Friend, for I am no traveler. I have travelled a few km from my abode to my workplace and not much further. I cannot reap the benefits of being called such.”

“And your abode, I presume, is elsewhere?”

“My home is here,” Xiao Xingchen dared. The house around him quaked as if it were laughing. He knew it was not laughing at him. Just then, the trees took to their movements, shuddering and throwing their branches until it covered the window, shadowing the light behind it. It threw Song Lan into complete darkness, and Xiao Xingchen into the arms of safety. He felt someone touch the robe around his body, cover his shoulders again. In the darkness, the little hands couldn’t be discerned as they held together the front, safely wrapping over Xiao Xingchen’s chest and draping him again in the warmth. One hand stopped just left of his breast, beneath the fingertips a soft tune from a beating heart.

Song Lan’s voice broke the silence with a frantic roar. He rushed towards the window, his arms chaotically pulling at the branches until they bit into his palms. Still, the trees seemed to hover, and tighter the arms wrapped around Xiao Xingchen’s body.

“Friend,” Xiao Xingchen called out to the frantic man. “Won’t you come from there?”

“You shut it!” Song Lan screamed. He turned around but the darkness hindered what must’ve been a disastrous expression. Xiao Xingchen thanked the fact that he couldn’t see it. The hands around Xiao Xingchen’s body twitched, the grip softening. Before they could release him, he reached out and grabbed the wrists, pulling them to his bosom.

“You’ve thrown yourself into such a state, Friend. Won’t you – “  
Song Lan lit his lighter, extending his hand so that the light reached just a bit further on. At this, the wrists curled under Xiao Xingchen’s fingers pulled away wildly, and the young man turned to dart into the hallway. Song Lan took a step forward at the sound, his light dancing closer. Xiao Xingchen looked both ways in his attempt to make a decision. It was “see if Xue Yang was okay” or “make sure Xue Yang was okay.”

“Xue Yang!” It’s exactly what he wanted to say, only, the words did not come from his own lips. It came from Song Lan’s like a taboo, a haunted name on purified lips or an innocent boy sent to burn, burn the way fire did to you, the way the light must’ve.

_He’s scared of the light, _Xiao Xingchen thought. Without waiting, he flung himself forward, forgetting that his ankle was injured. He knocked the lighter free from Song Lan’s hands and hurled the man into the floor.

“You stay away from him!” Xiao Xingchen screamed. He could hear his rage in his throat, knew how empty and parched he must’ve been. The fury in it wasn’t merely volume, but intent. His tone was like a knife that would peel Song Lan away and blow out his candles. The other man merely sneered in return.

“You’re too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always happy to see what you guys come up with ♥  
Who knew Song Lan could be a villain? Lol.   
In case anyone's wondering why XXC is naked, it's because XY has to see everything or else it frightens him.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me for this drabble. I have absolutely no idea what this is about...  
Let me know if you like it so far and i'll definitely continue it!


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